


Fiddler's Green

by thegraytigress



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the captain of the Flying Dutchman, it was Will's task to ferry souls from this life to the next. It's a task that strips his life away piece by piece and death by death until all that remains is the barest of hope that one day he might reach his family again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fiddler's Green

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Pirates of the Caribbean_ is the property of Walt Disney Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** T (for adult themes)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is a bit of a sad take on what could have happened after the end of _At World's End_ and the strain Will must have felt as the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. Will/Elizabeth as usual. Thanks for reading!

Will's life was stripped away from him piece by piece. Death by death. It was his task to ferry lost souls from this world to the next, to guide those who perished at sea on their ultimate voyage. It was not a duty he had ever wanted or even imagined himself doing, but he bravely faced it all the same because there was no choice. It was his fate, or so he'd been told. So he sailed the seas of the living, seeking sailors and innocents alike who had found their fates unfortunate, and each dying man he encountered he offered the same telling choice: accept that his time had come to part with these shores forever, or serve a hundred years before the mast. He wondered how long it would take before he grew to envy them as they lay twisted, broken, and bleeding but blessed by such a gracious choice.

His ship came to love him not long after he came to captain her. The  _Flying Dutchman_  had so long lingered in such a wretched state, corroded, weathered, and wearied by the hatred of the sea and the man who had laid waste to her. Will was tender, pure of heart and strong of hand, and she knew instantly that she had come into the care of someone who would honor her even if he despised what he had lost in becoming her keeper. The weeds and creatures of the sea soon departed her decks and masts, leaving wood and cloth happy again to see the stars and the sun, and they thrummed with joy beneath his capable fingers as the sea beat against her hull.

And her crew came to revere him not long after he came to command them. To each he had offered the same choice Davy Jones once had, and quite a few sought their freedom finally. Some were too far gone in mind and body, too twisted by the ship and the evil that had once dominated them, to be of any use. These and those that wished to reach a peace long denied them would take their leave at the end of his maiden voyage to the lands beyond World's End. More would stay. Will had once been their enemy, but with clearer minds and absolved hearts, they gratefully accepted his leadership and set to serving him with a fervor of which they had almost forgotten themselves capable because of the long time spent with fear, cruelty, and hatred twisting their spirits. For many of them, this was their first time doing their duty as well.

The  _Dutchman_  cut through the glassy waters. The world was very black in this place, without light of the moon or stars to guide them, but they needed no direction in truth because their captain knew the route as clearly as he knew the lines and contours of his wife's face. He stood at the bowsprit, watching the ocean. His first mate came beside him. "The damage Jones did runs deep, Cap'n," Bootstrap said softly and sadly. "There's likely no saving those that roamed lost for so long. They've no hope."

Will watched the  _Dutchman_  slide gently and slowly through the inky sea below them. A thousand lost spirits moved with the waves, rising and falling, twisting and turning. But they moved no closer to freedom, trapped forever in the sable depths of this lost place, forbidden to reach salvation. Their white bodies were contorted with unending misery. Their mouths were open with an unheard scream for help and their eyes were wide and terrified. "There's always hope," he murmured. He narrowed his eyes and saw the yellow glow of lanterns ahead. So many of them. Their faces were empty, confused perhaps, as the water carried their small boats to a last destination. He would guide them. "Drop the sails. Get out in front of them. Hurry, men!"

And so he began the task with which he'd been charged.

This was the only time of the many, many trips he would make this way that he searched for a soul. As his ship pulled effortlessly to the front of the procession of lost spirits, he looked frantically to each boat. He saw many recently passed. British soldiers. Pirates. Merchant sailors who'd run afoul of Jones' wrath. Will's gaze narrowed as he spotted Cutler Beckett. The man's eyes were glazed as though he could not quite fathom what had happened. Will wondered what had surprised the man more: the fact that he had been killed or the fact that his plot had failed him. He considered calling to the lord but quickly decided against it. He swallowed his fury and his grief, pressing a hand to his chest where a hideous scar marked the place his heart had once been. Greed and ambition had done this to him, Beckett's most of all, and because of it he and Elizabeth would suffer. However, venting his strife would not change what had happened, and it was not his place to deny the dead their peace.

He saw others as well as he searched and worked to herd the wandering spirits to follow him homeward. He hardly knew them, save one. Surprise turned slowly to saddened regret as he watched James Norrington drift by the bow of  _Dutchman_. The man's face was lax, but there was a peaceful look in his eyes. Will wondered morosely what had happened to him. The last time they had seen each other they had been hardly allies, fighting alongside each other and then against each other from one moment to the next. It seemed the man had regained some measure of lost honor, for he had died dressed in all the finery of a highly respected officer in the Royal Navy. However, Will imagined the sorrowful serenity upon Norrington's face was due to something else, a different sense of morality and loyalty that he had reclaimed once more in losing his life. Will said nothing to him either, comforted that Norrington had found some peace despite the contention between them throughout their lives. He watched as the man drew his dinghy into the parade that followed the  _Flying Dutchman_  onward. Elizabeth would have been happy to know this.

Tirelessly he journeyed through the endless seas of lost souls, seeking one spirit above all others. Fear clenched his belly; what could be said of himself should he fail in this task? But finally, in the dark crook of an empty place, he spotted the lone boat adrift. He ordered his crew to approach, and when the figure aboard the listless vessel came into view, Will's spirit quivered in relief. "Governor," he called, reaching as far from the bowsprit as he could. His voice echoed like thunder in this strange place, but the man in the boat did not respond. Perhaps his mind was already too far gone. "Weatherby Swann!"

The older man turned. He smiled a sad, waning smile. His eyes were dark and confused. "Mr. Turner," he said to Will's summons, "I'm glad to see you. But why are you here?"

Will felt pain inside, soft but insistent, and he shook his head. "Come with me, Governor, and I'll lead you from here."

Swann seemed greatly perplexed. "Is Elizabeth with you?" he asked instead, making no move to turn his boat to join the  _Dutchman's_  procession. "I… I thought I spoke with her a while back, but I can't remember what she said her plans for the day were… She'd be with you if there was any way she could be."

Tears burned Will's eyes. "I know. She's home, sir." He swallowed his anguish. "She's safe."

The man was weeping then. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Turner, for doubting you. You will take care of her, I know. She loves you more than she can say."

The pain nearly became unbearable. "Come with me," he beckoned, his voice rough with emotion, his body rebelling against the torture laid upon it. Yet he could not turn away. He wouldn't fail here, no matter how much he hated it. He couldn't fail Elizabeth. "Come with me and I'll take you home."

The Governor nodded, stilling his tears. "I think I should like that, Will. Show me the way?"

It wasn't until much later that he mourned, until after he had delivered these exhausted and beaten spirits to the place beyond, until after his crew had set sail anew for the living world, until after his father had bid him rest and clasped his shoulder with as much awkward affection as he could muster. Until after he had done this duty for this day. And then the  _Flying Dutchman_  learned her new captain was not always made of strength.

Will's soul was shred, moment by moment. Time was his enemy, and he feared nothing else so greatly. He came to dread each shipwreck he and his crew found. He came to tremble at sound of the sea screaming and at the harsh slap of her to his face as the spray from a storm doused him. His boots struck the broken deck of another sinking vessel, and those yet alive who were assembled he asked, "Do you fear death?" His offer was the same as always: a hundred years of servitude for postponing the inevitable. Those that accepted joined him in this hellish venture. Those that did not he let die or killed himself if the pain was too great. There were many, so very many. Sailors lost at sea. He tried not to look for those he knew.

He saw Elizabeth after ten years spent away with his ghostly duty. It was a beautiful blast of sun that chased away long times spent in shadow. One day they shared together, one vibrant, colorful day that outshone and outlasted a thousand suffered at sea. He learned then he had a son, a beautiful, charming boy that he loved instantly. Elizabeth told him as they watched their child sleep that he possessed his father's strength and courage, but he dreamed their son would grow wise and cunning like his mother. It heartened him to know that something so wonderful had come of their one day together so long ago and to know beyond any doubt that his wife was not alone. He lay with her, and when their day together came to an end, he faced his duty rejuvenated. Their love was strong and blessed, even with so many miles and so many minutes between them. He trusted in that.

Thus, the next ten years were not quite so crushing. It didn't matter so much that she was aging and he looked, felt, and  _was_ not a day older than he had been when Jones had killed him and Jack had thrust this burden upon him. It didn't matter that he would miss his child blossom from a mere boy to a young man, and that when he next saw his family his son could conceivably have a family of his own. He felt renewed in purpose, resolved to never sink into the heartache and hatred that had so twisted his predecessor. The  _Flying Dutchman_  was glad for this, and she roared across the seas, carried on fair but fierce winds.

The dead came and went. Will didn't. He was constant, bound to this existence by immortality, and while his body remained young, strong, and hale, his mind felt weathered. He tried not to dwell on those he killed and kept. He struggled not to remember the eyes of children filling with confusion as life fled their little bodies. He fought to forget the miserable tears of young men as they realized they would never again see their wives and lovers. He closed himself to those that hurt, those that wanted more life, those that yearned for things now forever beyond their grasp, those that longed for him to do something other than take them where they had no wish to go. Sometimes they spoke in languages he didn't understand, but he knew the plea regardless, and he only shook his head and carried them onward. It comforted him somewhat that they were bound to their fate as much as he was. The sea could be violent and hungry, and he knew her rages all too well.

His crew sang at times. A hundred years of hard work was no longer a punishment to them, but an honor and many felt grateful for the opportunity. Still, they were appreciative of what lay in wait for them after their captain held their oaths fulfilled. "Fiddler's green," his father told him once. "They think it lies ahead of them."

Will gave half a smile at that, standing close to Bootstrap as the other man capably guided the  _Flying Dutchman_  into another sunset. "And does it?"

Bill Turner shrugged and appraised his son with knowing eyes. "If it does, it's worth singing for," he said, and he turned his eyes to the fiery show of orange, red, and gold before them. Behind them the sky was lavender and steeped in the coming night. The  _Dutchman_  and her captain sailed to the places where the living dared not dwell.

It came as a surprise to Will (though in all honesty, he supposed it should not have) the first time he saw a man he'd known sailing through the undead seas. His was bound to cross paths with many of them; this would certainly not be the last. But it stung him all the same with a distinct and palpable ache, one he knew would never leave him. This first time it was Mr. Gibbs, and the man lifted his lantern calmly as he spotted the  _Flying Dutchman_  to his starboard side one night. "Captain Turner!" he called from the glassy waters. "Captain Turner, praise be! Now I know I'm heading for the right place."

Will smiled weakly, though the pain pulled his chest taut. "What happened?" he asked. It was of little consequence to him; he could not unmake death anymore than he could make himself free. Fear troubled him for the first time in an eternity. "The  _Pearl_?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Still out there, lad. Give my regards to Jack."

Will wondered how soon he would do just that.

Another decade passed before he saw his wife and child again. Elizabeth was still beautiful; age had been kind to her, but he could not help but contemplate for how much longer. He kissed her tenderly, holding hands that had grown so tough and callused with hard work. She'd clung to him, her eyes teary and her sorrow evident as she tried to ignore the growing rift between them. They'd lost so much, but Will assured her that she was as he remembered her, as he always would remember her. She spoke of their son, proudly relaying to her husband that he was well and finely trained as a blacksmith. Will had tugged the young man to his chest, closing his eyes against a burning flood of proud and anguished tears. He'd missed things he'd never have a chance to reclaim, things he'd never now experience. His life had been lived for him in his absence. The price he and Elizabeth had paid was immense. How heavy the burden. How long the torment. How vicious the sacrifice. The unfairness of it all had crept about his mind for years and years, but it came rushing down upon him as he was torn from his family once more by the setting sun. That night for the first time the  _Flying Dutchman_  felt his rage. The sea shook and trembled before it.

Eternity stretched onward. His crew changed with time, even if he did not. Faces came and went. New members brought stories from distant places and distant people, and he enjoyed them for the little touch of escape they provided. When he stumbled upon a bit of wreckage one night, he was shocked to find Barbossa clinging to a piece of the hull. The man had been shot and very nearly drowned. Will crouched before him. "Barbossa, do you fear death?" he asked.

The man was hardly conscious, but he gave a wicked smile teeming with rotted teeth. He had aged greatly, and his whitened hair filled the water. "Nay, Mr. Turner, it's a'coming for me now. I've been immortal once, and I think it's time I pay my due. Do me an honor, boy."

Will nodded sadly and his sword found the other man's heart in short order. He stood still, bathed in starlight, and watched as Barbossa's lifeless body sank to the very depths of the ocean. He had been both an enemy and an ally. How common that was, really.

There were others, as well. Pirates he had encountered in his travels. He sent them on their way. They had done their duties to their captains and their ships, but mostly to themselves. He did the same. It was queer that he changed so much while not truly changing at all. Life and death. Heaven and hell. This moment and the next. He was lingering in between it all.

When he returned to land ten years later, Elizabeth was not waiting for him. Panic had twisted him ferociously as he had searched for her, and when he found her, the world wept for his misery. A ragged scream tore from Will's lips. He pressed his heated face to the cold stone before him, wondering how this had happened, why it had happened, how fate could be so cruel. This was not right. When he'd last seen her she had been warm, vibrant, as golden as the sun and as alive as the sea. This was not right! Denial was too weak a shield to protect him against the onslaught of emotion. He disappeared, broken by the sheer violence of the fury, grief, and shock he felt. This was not what she wanted, not at all what she deserved. He felt a hand fall to his shoulder. It was his boy, a boy who now looked older than the man who'd fathered him. "She tried to reach you," he said, struggling with his own tears. "She was too sick. She tried so hard."

Will squeezed his eyes shut against the burning anguish, and he swayed, buffeted by the loss. "When?" he whispered. "How?"

His son had answers for him, answers that didn't matter. "She loved you," the other man finally said. His voice was unreadable, but Will thought he heard anger. Anger he deserved for reducing Elizabeth's life to one spent waiting and not living. "She always loved you."

He closed his eyes. "I know. She's home now."

They were silent for a long time. He was hardly anything to this man, little more than a stranger in fact, and while he was certain Elizabeth had spoken often of him, words meant little when faced with a life without a father. He knew that pain all too well. "Will you come back?"

The question struck him. "No," Will said breathily. There was no reason to return. There was nothing for him now and nothing to be gained by hurting either of them anymore.

His son nodded, dropping his hand once again to his father's shoulder. Will closed his eyes and remembered grabbing a little boy splashing through the surf and swinging him high as his wife laughed. Twenty years ago that had happened. Twenty years spent wishing and hoping had been resolved to but a few awkward minutes rife with too many things unshared and unspoken. He didn't ask about his chest or his heart. The latter was broken, and he didn't care about the former anymore. After his son's footsteps faded, Will spread his fingers over the gravestone. He wept silently and kissed a last kiss to the cold, unyielding rock and imagined instead he was kissing her warm, soft lips. Somehow it seemed real enough. Desperation was all he had left.

Will returned to the open seas rough and raw. He felt completely different for the first time since he had been given this duty. Elizabeth was dead. She was not waiting for him on shore. No one was. He recognized the alteration for what it was: he had lost hope. He'd never be free of this torment. She was gone from him, gone and he could not reach her. He never could again.

And the  _Flying Dutchman_  labored under his grief.

Time lost its meaning without a reference. He embraced all that was left to him: the task to which he had been appointed. The seas carried him to and from this place and the next, to life and death again, and he bore the weight of every lost hope and frayed aspiration as he carried those who had passed away to their final resting places. He was envious of their freedom, envious of the peace they would find, but he refused to let it devour him. He was no monster. He would not become one no matter the hurt or the weight crushing him down.

There was nothing for what seemed to be a very long time. One day Will scanned the horizon and saw black sails rising from the shallows of the sea. He recognized them instantly. He ordered his crew to take reprieve, shared a knowing look with his father, and then went to do his duty.

The  _Black Pearl_  had run aground, tossed against rocks likely by a fierce storm. Her hull was split, her decks flooded and maimed. She would never rise again. Will had seen many wrecks in his time, but this one seemed more poignant, more striking, than any other. He stepped through the water, climbing to the quarter deck. The ship seemed deserted, and he feared for a moment that he had been too late, that her captain had already died and sunk to the chilly embraces of the ocean deep.

"I was wonderin' when you would get here, William." The familiar drawl drew his attention, and he turned to find Jack pinned beneath the wheel of his ship. A piece of the mast had broken free and barreled through his belly to trap him against the wooden planks. He was dying.

Gold teeth glittered in the blinding sun as Jack smiled. His face had grown lined and weathered. The mess of his hair was thinned and whitened. He was a shadow of the pirate he'd once been. His eyes were glazed in pain, a distant sort of look Will knew very well. Death was coming. "Don't look so shocked, mate. It had to happen eventually."

Will bowed his head. "Yes, it did," he agreed softly. "It all did."

"Mite unfortunate that," Jack murmured, his eyes slipping shut. Then he grimaced and shifted a bit. "Mite uncomfortable, too."

Will didn't understand. "Where's your crew?" he asked softly.

Jack smiled that exasperating smile. "Didn't take one." Will sunk with anger and sorrow. Was he destined to have everyone he knew die? "Piracy's a lost art. Besides, I didn't want one. This time, it was just little ol' me, the sea, and my chances."

The man was a fool. Will understood better than anyone the whims of the sea. He sighed, submitting to what he knew he had to do. "Do you want me to ask you?"

Jack grinned. "Do you want to ask me?" The color was draining from his face. Ignoring his infuriating friend, Will opened his mouth to do his duty, but Jack interrupted him. "I didn't come here to get another chance. Been dead once. I'd like to see what it's really like this time. Just no sendin' me to the locker." Will's lips quirked into a rueful smile at that. They were silent for a long moment. "I'm sorry. Couldn't let you go." Jack's eyes were steeped in something very dark and very long-lasting. This was a torment he had carried with him for a great deal of time. But his hold on life was too tenuous to manage much more. "Carry me home, would ya, whelp? Devils… Black sheep…" He smiled, though at what Will couldn't say. "Really bad eggs…" And he died.

Will returned to the  _Flying Dutchman_  very much alone.

They took to the sea again. Will was beginning to realize the world had changed around him. People looked different. The tales brought aboard by those who wished to join his crew were strange and foreign to him. There was very little left with which he felt any sort of connection. Will's world was disappearing minute by minute. Day by day. Year by year. He slipped into routine, losing any joy he might have once found in his job. His father worried for him.

"Ship wreck, port side!" It was furiously storming. Lightning lashed the sky. Thunder roared. Wind blew rain like pelting bullets into the body. It was extraordinarily difficult to see anything, but as the  _Dutchman_  drew closer to the disaster in question, Will soon began to make out the debris. Two masts still rose above the roiling and twisting sea. He recognized the signs of a pirate attack, though they had become more and more uncommon of late.

"Bring her alongside, Mr. Turner!" Will bellowed to his father, and once the  _Dutchman_  had reached the wreck, he and a few of his crew made their way aboard.

It was obviously a merchant ship that had been returning to England. Most of its passengers and crew had already been slain, many gruesomely. Will knew he would likely soon see them wandering the undead seas. "Captain!" called one of his men. "This one's still breathing!"

Will stalked over to the prone man. He lay face down in a mess of bloody water and debris. A dagger stuck from his back. Dark hair had come unbound to spread across his face like a shroud. Will could barely make out the shadowy form in the oppressive night and driving rain. And once he did, he gave a hoarse, battered cry. It didn't seem possible, given all he had suffered, that yet more was to be taken from him. Despite the frantic cries of his spirit, he was powerless as he rolled his son's limp body over and drew it into his arms.

He was very near death. Will brushed sodden hair from the other man's face, and brown eyes fluttered open. He smiled. "Father," came a weak whisper. His shaking hand came upward to touch Will's cheek.

Will managed a small, feeble smile. "I'm here, son," he responded softly, grabbing his boy's hand. Tears blurred his vision as much as the pouring rain, and he hugged his child's broken body tighter to him. His mind was lost to him then. His lips moved around familiar words of their own accord. "Do you fear death?"

The man in his arms gave a short, tired laugh. "Yes," he said ruefully, "but I can accept my fate. Mother always told me you were the bravest man she had ever known, and you accepted yours." His throat tightened and he could think of nothing to say. He wasn't sure of the truth of that statement. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. "I should like to be as brave as you."

Will shook his head, wishing for once to have the strength to change a destiny to which he forever seemed bound. "Serve with me," he implored, his voice laden with frenzied hope. "Take my bargain and sail the seas with me. It doesn't have to be this way."

A tired, grateful smile. "Yes, it does." His son was growing weaker, the light in his eyes fading. "I was never meant to be at your side, but at hers." Will gasped a sob. "I'll look after her, and we'll wait until you come to us. I love you, Father."

Given all the effort he expended in the futile pursuit of forgetting those he'd seen die, Will found it strange that he could recall very little of the one death he truly wanted to remember. He'd lifted his son's limp body, pressed a kiss to his brow, and offered him to the sea. And he'd wept for what never could be. His own father enveloped him in a rare hug that night. "I know what it's like to watch your son die," he said, tucking Will's head to his shoulder. "It stays with you a long time, even if you know there was nothing you could do and even if you have hope for the future." Will smiled through his tears as his own father kissed his forehead and before walking back to the helm of the  _Dutchman_.

Fair winds and calm seas. From that moment on, he no longer felt terrorized by the passage of time. He didn't fear what he had lost or the faces of those he led to the world beyond this one. He didn't try to forget what he had become. His son thought him brave and strong enough to have accepted his destiny and carried its burden. Elizabeth had told him once when she had been young and their son but a child that the lad had considered him a hero. Perhaps he was.

For many years he sailed, embracing the freedom of the sea, enjoying those he encountered both dead and alive, finding his own peace in the rolling of the waves and the whispers of the wind. Then, one voyage to the end of the oceans, his father took his leave. It was simply his turn, his hundred years finally spent. He had grown weary, though he enjoyed nothing so much as the time he had lived with his son, he was ready to face the death he had so long ago avoided. Will was saddened but not frightened as his most constant companion stepped down from the  _Flying Dutchman_  and joined the long line of the dead. "I'll tell our family what I've seen you become," his father promised, offering him one more knowing smile. "Until we meet again."

As the last dinghy found its way home, the crew sang a shanty about fiddler's green. Will joined them.

He was alone then, completely and utterly, but it didn't hurt him nearly as much as he had once worried it would. The  _Flying Dutchman_  understood his calm, the smooth wheel of the ship beating gently against him as he drove her on her endless journey. When night came, he slept peacefully, and he dreamed of an endless, verdant field, where long reeds and sweet grasses rolled like waves in the wind. There was the smell of the sea, fresh and unspoiled, and the rich light of the sun. All the people he had brought to this place, the sailors, the children, and wives and lost loves, were assembled and watching expectantly for the green flash on the horizon. There was music and singing and laughter. He saw them, every one of them. He dreamed of Governor Swann's knowing eyes glimmering in pride and James Norrington's silent, regal strength. He dreamed of Barbossa's unhinged laughter and Jack's bumbling swagger. He dreamed of his father's comforting presence and his son's unending admiration. He dreamed of Elizabeth's beauty. They were waiting for him, and his wife wrapped his tired body in her open arms, kissed away his tears, and welcomed him home.

Will's life returned to him moment by moment. Memory by memory. Dream by dream. He treasured each as he cherished nothing else. The  _Flying Dutchman_  and her captain remained ever constant as the world shifted and the sands of time drained steadily towards eternity. Perhaps one day the sea would see fit to free him of his servitude.

Until then, he hoped.

**THE END**


End file.
